


At Times...

by AnneLaurant



Category: Dragon Booster (Cartoon)
Genre: Father & Son Angst, Frenemies, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, slice-of-life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 15:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19406122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneLaurant/pseuds/AnneLaurant
Summary: At times, love can hurt. At times, it moves people.While cleaning Connor's room, Artha finds a piece of himself and runs away. Moordryd finds him, and against expectations, listens.





	At Times...

Sometimes, small things kick off big things. Dragon wing effect, so to say.

The Penn household found themselves in the middle of a general cleaning, in preparation for the renovations. Connor called down Parmon and Kitt, and assigned roles to the Crew. He and Kitt got the stables, Parmon and Lance the common areas, and Artha… the rooms.

He kept his space tidy, because Lance and the big mess of clothes and paper always attracted each other. Artha saved his room – or what used to be his room – for last. Then again, there probably wasn’t much to clean there, given that that was one of the areas that received the most damage.

Artha headed to Lance’s room. Time to clean this mess.

When the time for general cleaning would come around, Artha usually got the rooms, because he was the eldest and was expected to uphold responsibility, and Connor was busy with the stables, as usual. And the usual process of cleaning a room involved folding clothes, categorizing miscellaneous objects into boxes, putting the boxes away, wiping stuff, and then vacuuming the floor.

And that usually meant Lance’s room, mostly.

Artha looked at the two piles of clothes. What were these meant to be? Either way, he packed them quickly and let them be two different clusters of piles of stacked clothes.

Next, Artha sat before the magazines and started arranging them. Lance read them in order, so Artha organized them by issue number. As he tried not to flip through, a few cut-outs slipped from an issue’s pages. Curious, he took the cut-outs and… Oh dear. Artha tried not to laugh. Cut-outs of old armor and high-tech gear, taped against each other. This was how Lance imagined himself as a Booster. _‘When he comes of age,’_ Artha remembered their dad saying.

Artha sighed. When Lance grew up… ugh, he couldn’t imagine that whirlwind of a boy being a grown-up. Lance would’ve looked like a big baby!

“Big baby bro!” Artha laughed as he pushed the magazine into the box, and set off to dust the furniture.

He found various pictures, more clothes, socks, a few hidden bars of Draconi-Yum, and more knick-knacks. Oh, yes. He couldn’t imagine his baby bro being a man.

Artha vacuumed the room by noon. He only stopped his tasks to tease his brother about the mess, have lunch with everyone, and growl and play a little with Beau.

After that, Artha headed to the next one. Their dad’s. He sighed.

Connor liked to call every old thing “ancient”. If it was still in practice, and by people who dedicate themselves to all things “ancient”, why were things called that way?

Plus, he faked his own death. For what? To show up as a guide for Artha’s destiny as the Dragon Booster? Why couldn’t he have done things a little more… normally?

Ugh. That meant if Beau went on to choose Moordryd, Connor would Mortis up, invite the boy to the stables regularly, and have Artha assist him from the side. Yuck. He and Beau dodged a metal ball that day.

Artha sighed again, and entered the dusty room.

Phe-ew! Artha coughed and coughed. No matter what cleaning he did to this room, it always ends up being so messy. They had a big estate to house dragons and dragon supplies. Why couldn’t they afford household help? And why couldn’t Connor afford to fix his own room? He was a grown-up, for Beau’s sake!

Now, when Artha cleaned Connor’s room, there were things forbidden to be touched, and those things were… mostly everything. That left Artha with no choice but to stack every single paper, notebook, record, and whatever else on what space he could stack them on, and vacuum what floor he could see.

And today, the mess was even worse. Then again, the explosion from months ago shook the whole place.

How could he have not seen the sign?

Artha started by stacking all similar-looking documents together. Notebook upon notebook, receipt upon receipts. Even if he tried to understand what was written on them, boredom and headaches would always interfere. Oh, those killer headaches would kick in when he chanced upon those documents relating to his dad’s business. Artha tried not to look. This was why he did vid games instead.

Notebook on notebook, paper on paper. There was somehow no end to this mess. Why didn’t Dad put them in a storage room? Or shredded them? Or threw them away? What ancient purpose did these things serve?

Artha looked out the window. It was starting to get dark. Really? He’d only uncovered one-fourth of the floor!

Record on record, receipt upon receipts. Connor was very diligent about collecting these documents. Artha groaned. There had to be an end to this.

As Artha wished and wished for the mess to clean themselves up, he noticed a brown edge peeking from the lying white sheets. Curious, Artha reached for it.

Oh. It was a framed picture. He wiped the dust off the glass, and found three smiling faces. Dad, and two women.

Two women? Connor said he was remarried to Lance’s mom. Why would he lie about that? It wasn’t like Artha, or the law, or their religion were against polygamy. Well, maybe the dragon priests were… but still!

The face on the taller of the women was similar to his own. Artha stared at her. That should be his mom. And Lance’s mom… he did remember that face. That innocent face with freckles that Lance also had.

Artha shut his eyes. He tried to remember. He should’ve met Lance’s mom. Her name was Vyra. And she was happy to watch over them.

And his mom, Sigwyn, the pro gamer…

“Artha! I’ve been calling you!”

When Connor came into the room, Artha’s heart dropped.

Memories rushed in. And they weren’t pleasant. There was a good reason for those killer headaches. Curse those ancient techniques, and curse the man who took to them.

Tears falling out of his eyes, Artha asked, “Why did you erase my memories?”

\--

Moordryd made his usual rounds in the town. Find dragons to steal, grab them, and race away. A routine he memorized, and a routine so boring. Cain, Rancydd, and Blayrre followed him as they scouted the area.

“Hey, isn’t that the Penn boy?”

But it seemed like they happened upon a better catch today.

Moordryd led his crew to the brat and circled around him. So, he was alone today. No crew, no dragon. How… boring. Why would Artha Penn, the Dragon Booster, ever make things easy for the Dragon Eyes?

“Why, Penn brat, it’s so nice to see—”

“Go away.”

Even Cain was taken aback. He too knew that Artha wasn’t one to immediately tell people off like this. Something in Moordryd’s gut told him something was wrong, very wrong, with what few words Artha Penn spoke.

“What? Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Penn?”

Moordryd still gambled on the assumption that nothing was wrong. He hadn’t even done much yet! He hadn’t even tried stealing a single dragon today!

But Artha didn’t immediately reply. Actually, he wasn’t even looking where he was going. His head was somehow permanently tilted downwards. Now that Moordryd looked at the other boy’s arm, the golden gauntlet was missing.

“Um.” Cain gulped. “You okay, Artha Penn?”

Artha wiped his face with an arm. “You guys… you guys dealt with Moordryd’s sob story with his dad, right?”

“That’s not for you to know!” Moordryd scowled, and his hands drew mag energy from Decepshun—

“We have a lot more in common than we think we do, Moordryd.”

But Artha looked up. Artha looked up and Moordryd, with the wisdom of a son who lost his father before his father even died, knew.

Sometimes, plans change. Rancydd and Blayrre’s dragons started shifting, obviously uncomfortable. Moordryd straightened his back. A leader must not lose composure in front of his subordinates.

“Cain. Rancydd. Blayrre,” Moordryd commanded, “You guys get dragons. I’ll handle the Penn brat.”

“But we can’t do this without you!” complained Rancydd, “And what about the Dragon Booster?”

“I’m sure the Shadow Booster can deal with him. Now go. Don’t make me lose trust in my most trusted companions.”

Moordryd looked away, pretending to be haughty… and smiled when he heard his companions’ dragons running away.

“Yeah…” Artha sniffed, his eyes puffy, his nose red, and his face and hair messy. “More in common than we think.”

If there was one thing Moordryd knew about losing one’s father in the deeper way, it was that no one liked to shout about it. Decepshun magged him off, and he offered Artha a handkerchief. Time to get to business.

“You look like an absolute mess, Penn.”

“Everything is.” Artha took the handkerchief to wipe tears and snot away. Ugh. Moordryd was not taking that home.

Still, Moordryd summoned the gentlest voice he could muster. “You wanna talk?”

“My dad…” Artha sighed. “…with ancient techniques the dragon priests never taught him… took away… my childhood memories.”

Oof. Moordryd grimaced.

“To cover up the fact that, for the first few years of my life, I was basically nothing compared to Beau.”

Ouch. “Scales.”

“Scales, indeed. My moms said, when I was born, he celebrated Beau’s birth instead. When I had a birthday, he celebrated Beau’s. When he brought gifts, it was for Beau, the dragon of legend, not me, his son.” Artha sighed once again. “Beau and I literally share the same birthday.”

Moordryd felt a pang in his own heart. He placed a hand on Artha’s shoulder. What kind of father would even do that?

“My birth mom, Sigwyn, told me that things changed when Beau was born. That dad wasn’t like this. And that she and Lance’s mom, Vyra, hoped that dad would change somehow. Back into the Connor they knew. Even when Lance was born, he, he hadn’t changed. But… it took our moms’ deaths for dad to realize it. That…”

Artha fought tears back.

“That he’d been so. So! So caught up! In the duties! The dragon priests gave him! To realize that!” Artha sobbed. “He had… a family. Who needed him. More than… more than the world did. And to cover up for his mistakes… to treat my trauma, of losing both my moms… he…”

Artha fell to his knees. Moordryd followed and pulled the other boy to his arms.

“My dad… he erased… he erased my memories.”

Moordryd had no more words. That was just too cruel. As Artha wept, the Shadow Booster thought to himself, who had it worse? The one who lived all his life knowing of a strange relationship filled with love and hatred, or the one who learned that this loving relationship had been filled with apathy and dishonesty?

But no. The period that follows pain was not a period filled with answers or solutions. It was a period looking for a way to recover, to properly deal with the problem.

The forecast said it wouldn’t rain. The sun would set soon.

The timing should be good.

Moordryd wrapped Artha’s arms around him and commanded Decepshun to mag them both onto her saddle.

“I’m gonna take you someplace where you can feel better,” he whispered to Artha.

Artha only nodded and snuggled closer.

Decepshun galloped away.

\--

Moordryd thought to himself, he was too soft for this.

He left Artha atop the tallest building he could think of – Sun City’s clocktower, the center of Dragon City government, the very office where laws were ratified. Hardly a good place to leave people on, but Moordryd was glad Decepshun was a very good vertical climber, and that Artha didn’t voice any objection.

Well, maybe, just maybe, Artha was in no position to voice any objection.

Ack. It’d get really cold up there. Moordryd had to stop by three places now.

The first thing he did, of course, was to drop by the Payne residential house. He took out the thickest blanket he knew of, tied it around himself, and rode off.

The second thing he did was to grab some old favorite comfort items, one in crimson, his favorite color, which Word associated more with Zulay and almost forbade, and… what color did Artha like? He said it pained him to look at Beau right now, so definitely not one in a golden honey hue. White, perhaps? No, no. Something else…

Moordryd’s eyes rested on a color that reminded him of Artha’s usually spirited eyes.

Yes. That one would do.

And the last agenda, the most important one, was to get rid of Sun City’s power for the moment. An hour would be ideal, but if it only lasted for half, Artha had to make do.

Moordryd slid the items into small glass caskets and went back to Decepshun. He had her mag the glass caskets before jumping onto his saddle. Decepshun whined. _What are you doing?_

“I know, girl,” he muttered, and led her to the largest energy distributor of Sun City.

Decepshun whined again. _This is so out of character for you. Let’s go back._

Yes. Sure, he was. Oh yes, he wasn’t breaking in to cause trouble. He was breaking in for someone else’s sake. Too soft. He’d gotten too soft. Even his dragon was protesting.

But despite complaints, dragon and rider sneaked into a mess of tubes, wires, and hallways. _Please. Just a bit._ He only needed a little bit of time! If only the lights never did _that_ , then he’d never have to do this.

And after a few more twists and turns, they found the energy turbines. A small energy overload wouldn't damage the entire Dragon City forever, but this would be enough for this little favor for Artha. Why, Moordryd asked himself, but his soft side took over, even when it answered with silence and heartbeats.

"Easy, girl," he whispered to Decepshun, “Please?”

She grunted and rolled her eyes, before granting him a small piece of mag energy. He charged the turbines.

The lights died.

\--

Artha gazed the cityscape before him. Lucky for Moordryd to always find this scenery before bedtime. There were so many lights, so many colors, so many shapes, and yet, Artha did not find comfort or beauty in them.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Just like how he could no longer comfort himself with the thoughts of Beau, who might as well be his twin brother who Connor favored largely. Even as time passed, it still hurt. It hurt like scales. Artha wiped his tears and rubbed his arms. So this was loneliness. Dark, cold, and painful.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Then the lights died.

Darkness. Total darkness.

"What the scales?!"

Artha leapt to his feet, but a cold gust of wind reminded him he was taken to one of the tallest places of the city. What a very courteous person the Shadow Booster was!

Artha sat back down, and waited. Chills crept up his skin. Cold air. Wind. Silence. If someone was out to take him now, they better do so quickly. Artha could not welcome even more suffering tonight.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The clocktower upon which he sat did less to comfort him. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Artha didn’t want to count. The darkness was lasting more than necessary.

He almost wished he didn’t run away from the place he once called home. He almost wished for Beau again.

Then something glowed in the dark. A small red orb, nestled in some person's hands.

A soft roar greeted Artha, and he knew it was no other than Decepshun, with Moordryd on her head. The dragon climbed carefully on the tower and circled around Artha.

"Glowyrms," whispered Moordryd, "Are rather fragile flowers, only grown here in Sun City. Worthless weeds at day, but... rather superb at night."

Artha's eyes followed the light. From what little there was to see, Moordryd hoisted himself down and approached. Then Artha was face to face with another glowing orb of a flower, this time a blue one, protected in a glass casket.

"...I don't know what your favorite color is," admitted Moordryd. It brought a smile on Artha's lips for the first time since... earlier.

"Thanks."

Artha received the flower and wondered at its ethereal beauty. Its velvety petals had shades of azure and white, and speckles of black here and there. He took a whiff and sighed. What a gentle, downy smell, perfect for a unique flower like this. It reminded Artha of a nice bed to lay upon.

"Is this your favorite flower, Moordryd?"

He snorted. "Enough questions, and just enjoy the view."

"What view?"

Artha felt his head being tilted upwards. He gasped so loud, and he almost let go of the glass casket holding the flower.

_D. R. A. C..._

There could be hundreds, thousands. There could be even more.

Artha couldn’t count them all, even if he wanted to.

The speckles of light in the sky were a dracful of times more mystical and grandiose than he ever thought. The lights rested against indigo, purple, black, and rich, beautiful azures, like confectioner’s sugar on expensive desserts. Sequins on costume fabrics. Soft powder on skin. Glitter on gel pens. Droplets on glass. Fluttering foil on racing banners.

The best of all had been the hazes of pink, teal, orange, and white. They seemed like boulders tearing through dark sheets. Artha wondered if the sky broke apart to splatter these little drops of light, in different sizes, some big, most small.

His heart thrummed to the beat of the world around him. Calm, serene, peace, light, magnificent. Sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle, went the lights above him. Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, they shone gently.

Anywhere he looked, what he thought to be a dark sky became a vast field of those lights - beautiful, but not blinding.

The scenery hushed his lips and dampened his senses. When Artha knew it, he and Moordryd were sharing a blanket around their backs, with Decepshun snuggling behind them.

"Sometimes, there are things you only see in the dark," Moordryd said. "People fear it, but I, I love it. It welcomes all your secrets and your pains."

“I guess it does.”

“Best of all: it doesn’t judge.”

Artha grinned. "…thanks." He sighed, once more, for the nth time that day, and he hoped this would be his last sigh. “I wish I could see it every night.”

“Hmm… we~ell, when the aurora season comes along, I’ll take you up here again to see them.”

He didn’t know what an aurora season meant. “Aww, Moordryd, you’re so sweet.” But it probably would be something as breathtaking as this.

Moordryd chuckled. “Only when I think you deserve it.”

The dark wasn't so bad, after all. For tonight, just for tonight, Artha was glad he found the dark side welcoming him.

Artha snuggled closer and rest his head on Moordryd's shoulder. Tears once again fell; sobs once again broke out. What a beautiful world he lived in... what a beautiful, painful world...

**Author's Note:**

> Just the other night, I thought, "Does Artha ever see the sky? Had Artha ever actually saw actual stars before???"
> 
> The latter part of the fic was inspired by the song "At Times, Love..." and the Utena movie dance scene, because that scene has the best romantic scene with the shot of the night sky ever. Just... magical. Majestic. Mystic. Romantic and moving. See it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJT5i5NmONc).
> 
> The first part was me trying to answer, "Why does Artha know almost nothing about dragons when he was raised in a dragon breeding business with wide dragon stables? What duties does Artha have at home anyway???"
> 
> Also I didn't write Artha's confrontation with Connor, because I figured out it would be too painful. Too angsty.


End file.
